


a troubled mind

by fineosaur



Series: count your blessings, my love. [3]
Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Happy Ending, Hurt/Comfort, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-24
Updated: 2020-06-24
Packaged: 2021-03-03 23:35:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,992
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24894019
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fineosaur/pseuds/fineosaur
Summary: Pick Arya from airport — Saturday. Rickon’s PTS meeting — Monday. Phone Sansa ASAP — check on Bran’s new treatment. Call Jon — see when he’s coming home. When less busy — call Theon.The words behind his eyes eventually fade as he hopes for dreamless sleep and thankfully that night he had gotten his wish.It’s almost enough to make him smile, he’s been told he doesn’t smile much anymore, he knows.
Relationships: Theon Greyjoy/Robb Stark
Series: count your blessings, my love. [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1842127
Comments: 17
Kudos: 62





	a troubled mind

**Author's Note:**

> i wrote this over the course of the last twenty-four hours with the songs ‘a troubled mind’ — noah kahan and ‘real love song’ — nothing but thieves, on repeat. please enjoy.  
> the pic below's credits go to [Henry Sene Yee](https://thex100s.tumblr.com/post/85578534816)

He’s never gotten the opportunity to let it all get to him. There’s never been time for it. Not when there’s always been at least one other person that needs the safety his arms provide. 

It’s part of being the oldest son, he tells himself far too often. 

The sunken, purpled skin beneath his formally bright blue eyes gets the worried glances but no one comments on it, because why should that matter when sleeping is the least of his worries? 

His bones are still heavy when he wakes up, but he knows he’s been able to steal a few more hours of sleep each night, hours where he isn’t compiling lists in his mind. 

_Pick Arya from airport — Saturday. Rickon’s PTS meeting — Monday. Phone Sansa ASAP — check on Bran’s new treatment. Call Jon — see when he’s coming home. When less busy — call Theon._

The words behind his eyes eventually fade as he hopes for dreamless sleep and thankfully that night he had gotten his wish. 

It’s almost enough to make him smile, he’s been told he doesn’t smile much anymore, he knows. 

Robb is on an important call when he sees his phone ring. It’s Rickon’s school. It doesn’t surprise him to see the number calling, not when he gets a call at least once every two weeks to hear about what other nonsense his youngest brother gets up to. 

So it’s not hard to just ignore it for now. He listens to the woman on the other end of the receiver, eyes darting up at his windows as rain beats down on the large glass panes of ‘his’ office. Rickon’s larks could wait, he silenced his phone and went back to his call. 

The weather had calmed down by the time he was on his second cup of coffee. The warmth of the drink was a comfort with the strong blast of air-conditioning of the office and the northern autumnal gloom. 

Robb was still lost in a daze, staring at the leaf that clung to the window, when Rollam knocks at his door. It takes a minute before the knocking registers and he turns towards the source of the noise. 

“Aren’t you meant to be on your break?”

He feels the tight smile against his lips fall at the look that’s etched in the younger man’s features. The silence is palpable and he already feels himself going on alert, because of course, when things seem to be tangible, he finds himself facing another hurdle, each getting higher and higher, with no regard for the fatigue that weighs him down with each leap. 

“What is it Rollam?” He asks insistently. 

A switch goes off in his head and he’s walking towards his desk again, putting his steaming cup of coffee down hurriedly and going to his phone. 

His screen lights up again and this time he doesn’t think for even a moment before answering and bringing it to his ear. 

* * *

Robb often wonders how much more his heart can take before it falls out of his chest. The caffeine in his veins doesn’t help the rapid palpitations he feels as he drives down slick roads, picking at his cuticles with every halt, knowing that if he stayed still it would be evident that how shaky he was. 

He glossed over everything that was said to him on the phone, only fixating on the fact that he needed to be at Torrhen Memorial as soon as possible. It should be a relief that this time when he’s driving he’s not leaving in day-old clothes and that he was assured that he wasn’t losing yet another family member. 

He silenced his phone again today. As if he hadn’t learnt his lesson just 3 years prior. 

The air in the clinic hangs heavy with grief. Or maybe that’s just him and the smell of isopropyl that triggers a familiar memory he prefers to keep locked away. The thought still makes his face sting. 

As Robb finds his brother in the ER and he remembers that he’s forgotten his coat in his car but that’s not the reason for the goosebumps that raise the hair on his arms. 

He can see the discomfort on Rickon’s face as he leans back restlessly on the hospital bed. His dark brows are drawn in annoyance at the staff in front of him, though underneath all that frustration and fury, there’s obvious fear. 

He’s out of breath when he reaches his younger brother. Robb forgets everything around them for a moment and wraps Rickon into his embrace. His brother fights it, tense in his grip as Robb pushes on in his relief. 

Rickon cringes in pain when Robb pulls away, aware that his crisp white shirt is now dirty with mud. 

“I’s a fracture is all,” Rickon explains, jaw tightening as the nurse lowers the rail. 

Robb knows his brother’s habit of downplaying everything, pain included, be it physical… or emotional. 

He finds himself looking for answers from the nurse itself. 

“You’re the brother?” 

“I am, yes.” 

Rickon is sitting right by him, despite the clear agony written in his blanched complexion, very much alive and breathing, and yet Robb feels his chest still tight, his heart sits in his throat in fear. 

His nausea persists even after Rickon’s taken. Even after hearing that it’s really nothing severe and all that’s needed to be remembered is _RICE, rest, ice, compression, elevation_. 

Even when they’re driving home and Rickon’s foot is elevated on the central console, his heart still weighs heavy in his chest. 

He’s turning onto the motorway when the stifling silence is broken by Rickon’s voice. 

“We-“ he clears his throat, “it was raining and we were playing football.” 

Robb glances at him through the rearview mirror, watching as Rickon bites the straw of his juice box. 

“I slipped in the mud.” 

“I figured that’s how that story would end,” Robb tries joking, but he isn’t sure if Rickon catches his tone.

“They didn’t have to call you, I thought I was eighteen now.” 

“I’m still your emergency contact,” Robb sighs, “being legally an adult doesn’t mean you are one. Up till November, I was still your legal guardian.” 

“I know.” 

He tries easing up, it’s Friday, and with every glance back at his younger brother, he realises there’s worry in his blue eyes too— all their mother, but the sky outside, with its overcast clouds and grey gloom— that’s all their father. Was, he should say. 

“Sorry.” 

The apology is said when Robb kills the engine and the garage door is closing slowly behind them. 

He meets Rickon’s gaze directly this time, not through a mirror. He doesn’t know what to say to the kid, ten years his junior, because he was the same when he wasn’t lost in making sense of his head, he was also spending as much time as possible on the football field, even when not meant to. 

Rickon’s hair is still clearly damp and dark against his forehead. He finds himself worrying that he’d have to deal with Rickon catching a cold as well. Because when one thing was over, there was always another thing to worry about in his worried head. 

“I didn’t mean for it this time…” Rickon says. He’s fiddling with his uniform tie that was wrapped around his hand, barely ever actually worn properly when it came to the boy. “I know you get called in a lot, but this time it wasn’t actually like that.” 

“It’s a Friday,” Robb states, “you and your mates got carried away if I could tell you the number of times Jon and I came home with scrapes and bruises—“

“But this is different.” Rickon interrupts. His skin is flushed as he tries to explain himself, freckles illuminating in the too-bright light of the garage. “It’s okay if you did that back then. _Things_ were different.” 

“Rickon—“ 

“Robb.” 

He sighs, knowing better than to start an argument with Rickon in this state. Because loss did something for each of them, and for his youngest brother, it just heightened his irritability. 

“It’s okay, Rickon,” Robb assures him. 

While it’s entirely not okay, and he feels himself on his last thread before he’s ready to just sit on the shower tiles and let hot water run over his body in silence, Robb knows he can’t let the cord break just yet. 

No matter how much his younger brother pretends and relents on being an ‘adult’, Robb knows from experience that Rickon is still very much a child. If anything, Robb’s the adult, the one who should be Rickon’s crutch, there’s no point in letting the kid worry about him when he’s got his whole life to go through. 

Robb’s closing his car door behind him and taking his things out of the boot when he looks back into the car, trying his best to cheer his brother up. 

“Would you like these crutches—“ he gestures with them in his hand, “or would you like me to hold you?”

“I’ll take the crutches,” Rickon snaps, stepping out the car and taking them out of Robb’s hands. 

He hears a mumbled _‘piss off, Robb’_ , under his brother’s breath but continues unlocking the door to the house, he brushes it aside. 

* * *

He’s back in the garage, a day later. 

The sun peeks out a bit that day, but his mood is just as dreary as the day before. Maybe it has to do with the frown that remains etched between Rickon’s eyebrows all day at the thought of not being able to do much beyond rest. 

He’s taking Arya’s suitcases out of his boot with her nattering at his side, persisting on being able to carry her own things, but when it was a habit to carry everyone’s load, this wasn’t so big a chore. 

Robb listens as she continues on about the Riverlands, about the life she has there, and he’s happy for her, she’s clearly brighter than he’s seen her in a while. Perhaps it’s the North which makes ice settle in his bones so often he’s gotten used to walking around with a leaden gait. 

Arya’s drinking water when she finally allows herself to ask about him, words that have been on the tip of her tongue since he saw her at the arrival gate. 

“Are you doing okay?” 

It’s a simple question. One he doesn’t know the exact answer to. Because whilst okay can mean many things, he’s just tired, thoroughly wrung that he wonders if he’s ever going to catch a break. 

“Rickon’s in the living room, moping,” he deflects. 

“Maybe he has to learn to sit down a bit,” Arya laughs, walking out of the kitchen. 

Robb follows her, watching as she takes the seat closest to Rickon to prod him, trying to brighten his mood. She’s much better at it than he is. It brightens his mood somewhat to have her there. 

He watches them for only a moment before he finds himself going back to the kitchen, opening his email on his phone. 

“Rickon thinks you need to get laid.” 

When he straightens his back at Arya’s voice, the dull ache in his elbows from leaning on the granite counter is the only thing that tells him he zoned out for too long. 

“He seems to think that’ll solve all his problems,” Robb tells her, “I don’t know how much it’ll do for mine.” 

“So something’s going on then?” 

He saw it coming, Arya probing curiously, as she always did, wanting to know all the answers the world had to give her. 

“Nothing’s going on.” 

“Are you getting any sleep?” 

He’s not about to lay everything on her. Because nothing is wrong in particular, but nothing feels right either. Between the tugs he gets on his heart and the heaviness of his shoulders, nothing is worth complaining about, not when he can just let her revel in the giddiness of finding someone who’s there for her. 

“Tell me about this guy you mentioned.” 

“Gendry?” 

“What’s he like?” 

“How’s Theon?” 

Robb doesn’t have anything to counter her with. He may have unintentionally backed himself into a corner when he began turning questions onto her. 

“I wouldn’t know.” 

Arya stares at him in disbelief. A mixture of pity and shock, neither of which settles with him very comfortably. He doesn’t have to explain to her why he’s always finding excuses for why he hasn’t reached out to the man who was once his best friend, who had become so much more until a couple dozen missed calls woke him out of his rose-tinted delusion. 

“I’ve been meaning to call him,” Robb explains, not so convincingly, “I just don’t have much time, let alone the energy.” 

“Are you doing anything today?” Arya asks pointedly with her arms crossed over her chest. 

“I have to look after Rickon, despite how much he can’t stand me right now.” 

“I’m here.” Arya tells him, “Let people give you a hand, Robb. There’s no reason for you to take all this on yourself.” 

He doesn’t know what part of what she says to him, leaves him quite out of breath. They’re simple words, really, but none of which he’s ever given himself a moment to think of. After all this time, why would it be an option to share the onus he carries? Why would he want anyone else to go through what he goes through? 

“It’s a bit late to call him,” Robb says. 

If anything, he’s a few years too late. 

“It’s eleven in the morning.”

“You know what I mean, Arya.” 

“Don’t call him then.” 

He’s taken aback for a moment. Robb opens his mouth to speak but he doesn’t even know what to say, because he’s disappointed she doesn’t put up more of a fight, it’s unlike her, and it’s clear he wants to be coerced into something he’s been putting off for far too long. 

“But you still know where he lives?” 

There it is, and his heartbeats faster in his chest. As she’s fiddling with his car keys that noisily against the stone counter. 

He doesn’t let himself dwell on what he’s doing. But he has his sun visor down and he’s driving with determination. If he thinks too much he’ll remember why he’s put it off for so long. Fear, guilt, messily jumbled in his gut. 

Robb finds himself second-guessing his impulse when he stands in front of the door to the flat he had been ready to move into just 3 years prior. 

Flashes of clumsy kisses between heady movements, pull him back to that day, to that weekend really. The one where he might have been his happiest, only for it to go downhill far too fast for him to even grapple onto anything that would help him out of the pit he still found himself falling into. 

He reckons if he had allowed it, Theon would have been there for him. Back then, that is, he still feels he’s far too late to apologise for pulling away so fast and so much. 

All the strength he’s conjured up on the drive there crumbles completely at the sight of him. The dark eyes and black hair that just barely sweeps across strong yet lithe shoulders, one thing’s missing, the sly smile, no that’s replaced by bewilderment. 

“Theon…” 

No other words spill out of his mouth, instead, he’s pulling Theon into a crushing embrace, one he realises he’s needed for far too long. He breathes in the smell of his skin, the smell of detergent that lingers on his shirt as he clings to him. 

“Robb—“

“Just tell me to leave in a minute,” Robb interrupts, not wanting to let reality taint this moment they have.

Theon’s arms wind around him tightly, matching Robb’s ferocity, and really there’s no reason to think Theon hasn’t missed him. They were best friends at some point— were they not?

He’s losing himself in the smell of Theon’s conditioner, so different to the one he remembers him to use when he decides to pull away. 

Robb finally registers that Theon is still in his sleep clothes when he remembers Arya’s voice, _‘it’s only eleven in the morning,’_ , when did he ever know his best friend to wake up before noon on a Saturday? 

“I woke you, didn’t I?” 

It’s almost like things are back to the way they used to be. He doesn’t have to over-think each word that’s about to bounce off his tongue.

Theon walks backward into his flat, leading Robb in with his tired smile, it’s there again and gods is it the most contagious thing he’s ever seen.

With a smile on his face, he closes the door behind him and gives the place a wandering glance. 

“The clock still reads ‘AM’ and you’re already making me wonder if I’m not just in some crazy dream right now,” Theon cracks. He’s yawning as he takes a seat on his sofa, throwing a leg up tiredly. 

“I guess it’s not so far fetched to think this is a dream when I never show up, right?” 

Theon’s smile falters again and he’s looking away from Robb, fiddling with the small silver hoop on his ear. 

“You’ve got your shit going on, Robb.” 

“I do, and I let it get me.” He answers vaguely, “I shouldn’t have let it… but I did.” 

“It’s been a while— why now?” Theon yawns again, his brown eyes glisten with what Robb brushes aside as fatigue. 

“Rickon fractured his leg when playing football,” he explains as if any of that has any correlation. 

“Is he okay?” 

Robb doesn’t dare to sit down, he doesn’t feel like he can sit still, or if he’s even allowed to, “He’s fine,” he dismisses, “Arya’s with him.” 

“Arya’s in town?” 

“Yeah, but it doesn’t matter,” he snaps, meeting Theon’s eyes in apology, “it’s that… I silenced my phone for a moment and I found myself running to the clinic yet again, with that same—“ Robb has to stop himself for a moment. He’s glad Theon understands what’s going on because his habit of talking over him doesn’t persist in this moment. “It was the same fear, worry, guilt, whatever it was back then when it happened to mum, dad, and Bran… that guilt, I felt it again and it’s just— I assumed I felt guilty for letting myself love you, but really I don’t even know where the guilt is rooted from.” 

Robb lets himself take a deep breath and get closer to Theon, trying to see if maybe he doesn’t understand the words tumbling off his tongue, he at least sees in his lifeless blue eyes, that he’s sorry for pushing him away and refusing his help, his presence. 

“I miss you,” Robb admits, he feels his face sting, it matches the ache he feels in his chest. He sits on the sofa and turns himself to face Theon, still on edge with how little the dark-haired man seems to say, which isn’t at all how he remembers him to be. “I’ve missed you every day, between being my best friend and also the man I love. And I don’t know if I even deserve to have you in my life anymore.” 

“You’re fuckin’ stupid y’know that?” Theon says, meeting his eyes. 

Theon rubs his face, pushing his silky hair behind his ears and stares back at him. Robb doesn’t know what he expects from him, but it’s definitely not for Theon to pull him back his arms. 

Robb’s still confused, searching for answers when he pulls away and looks for them on Theon’s face, sharp and angular features that draw him in until he’s certain he won’t make it without him, not again. 

Robb’s face is in his palm because it seems like even he’s trying to look for answers, but how could he be when it feels like they all lie in Theon’s dusky eyes. Robb leans into the warmth of his palm with a hand on his wrist. It feels like he’s breathing again and all this time he’s just been holding his breath, allowing himself nothing but short bursts of air that do nothing other than bring him closer to drowning. 

“I need you to forgive me,” he tells Theon determinedly, “please.”

Once again, Theon’s silent. It worries him, but what doesn’t these days? It’s the fact that he knows Theon does nothing other than say exactly what’s on his mind, when it’s there and now, Robb has nothing to go off of. 

“It doesn’t matter what we are, but I need you with me again,” Robb says, “I need my best friend to remind me the world isn’t as dark as I like to convince myself it is.”

“I’m there,” Theon replies, his hand falls to Robb’s shoulder and he’s squeezing gently, “I always am, aren’t I?”

He is. That’s the thing. 

Throughout it all, Robb hears Theon’s voice in his head at times where he can’t even help it. Because as inconvenient as love feels, the love he feels for Theon is almost innate, it’s become instinctive to think of him when anything happens.

Robb doesn’t know when he starts crying, or why. But he figures it’s about fucking time when the foundations of the walls he’s built over time are so precarious. And of course, Theon’s there, holding him as he crumbles. 

He finds himself still trying to explain himself through his sobs, no matter how much his chest tightens to do so. “I’m so tired, Theon,” he cries into the other man’s shirt, “my heart still feels on the fucking edge since yesterday and I don’t know if that feeling was already there before Rickon got hurt.” 

His lungs are heavy and soaked, he’s sure Theon’s clothes are in a similar state. 

“I just need to know that I’m not going to always feel this way, or that there’s a light at the end of this tunnel, pit, whatever it is, I’m just tired of keeping myself up because I can’t afford to do anything else.” 

Theon lets out a heavy breath, his long fingers going through Robb’s auburn curls. It’s unbelievably soothing, he doesn’t know when he’s last felt anything like it. 

“Can you just—“ Theon pulls him up to look at him, his eyes dart around Robb’s tear-soaked face, “come to bed with me. You look like you haven’t slept in years.” 

He hasn’t, not really, and he feels it. 

Theon’s thumbs wipe his cheeks and before he knows it, he feels Theon’s lips against his. It’s softer than he ever remembers it to be. 

Theon’s mouth gently moves against his, and Robb knows he’s breathing again. Maybe there was something about this love thing, maybe the irrationality of it was what made it so inescapable. 

They’re clutched in each other’s grip with their foreheads pressed together and he knows he must be floating from the lightness in his chest because there’s no way he feels this way without having a chest cavity filled with helium. 

He doesn’t know which one of them lets out the breathy laugh first, but it’s irrelevant, what matters is that he’s with Theon now. 

“Come on.” 

Theon gets up and holds out a hand to him. Without hesitation, Robb takes it. 

Robb steps into Theon’s room and he feels like a kid in love again. It’s not surprising that his room is so different from that night, a lifetime ago. 

He doesn’t mention the framed picture of the two of them and Jon on his dresser, but he finds it easy to smile at the thought of it still being intact after all these years. 

Robb finds himself in a dreamless sleep yet again, but this time he’s in Theon’s lean arms and he thinks maybe the reason he doesn’t dream is because one of his dreams is right by his side.

**Author's Note:**

> thank you for reading xx  
> lots of love,  
> [fineosaur](https://fineosaur.tumblr.com)


End file.
